Lace
by Intricacy
Summary: So fragile, it is, how beautiful and cruel it can be to bind the dead in lace, but there is nothing beautiful about a throne being overthrown with betrayals, trickery, and deceit. Here lies the tale that was never blessd with its happily ever after.
1. Chapter 1

Lace

_SIMPLE SUMMARY: She was masked in lace; she could see no one out of it, but all could see her through it. Here lays a tale that had never been blessed with its 'happily ever after.'_

_FULL SUMMARY: She wanted to be able to live like the common folk, she wanted to be able to run out to the horizon, yet she could not have those simple wishes. She was to become heir to the throne; she was betrothed to a prince to whom she was not fond of. She noticed, with distaste, that he had her eyes on her favorite sister. Her sister loved him, but she could not bring herself to break it to her youngest sister in what she believes: that the prince is trying to kidnap her. The prince, himself, however, has a different story, a story in which she is not quite sure that she can trust. For here, every person has a different point of view, a different story – and only one of them can be true. If she can find the single one to trust, then she may become the greatest queen ever recorded in history._

_If she fails, however, it will mean death to her and her family._

**THE FOLLOWING SUMMARY IS A SPOILER.**

_And there is a person who is stalking her, trying to kill the one who attempts to fix the chaos. She wants to stay out; she doesn't want to partake in the royal turmoil, hiding herself in layers of thin lace. When she finds out that it does not matter if she helps or not, she will be killed if the person finds her, she decides to make the best of her time to save her family and herself._

_But when she falls for her murderer unknowingly, and the person who paid the murderer falls for her, mass confusion begins. Her quiet youngest sister runs away with the prince. Her mother, the ones with the most wit and wisdom in the family, fears for her life and runs away. It turns into a headcase that she cannot handle – and that headcase continuously grows larger._

Angst / Romance / Tragedy

Disclaimer: I own all! Bwahahaha! Applies to full story

A/N: First fairy tale, third/fourth time using first person. I'm trying to gain a new skill. Teehee. Please Review!

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I could only tell that I had hated the words as soon as it had stepped out of my father's mouth. It was not enough to be cursed to be born in this family. "You are a fool!" my sisters tell me. "Any maiden in this country would give all they had to be born in the position as you are!" Yet I disagree; what kind of life must I live forever, onwards, if everything I do, everything I say, is not something that I choose to do? I will have no say in anything whatsoever. I will have no true life of my own. The one thing that I possess is gold, and that gold will be taken away from me the day I marry. What maiden in the country would want this so badly? What maiden would want to be princess?

My mother had never bore a son. She is past the likely age to bear child now, my eight sisters and I the only children of royalty. My father drew me into his throne, declaring his proposition. "My dear Kellyn," he had said, "you are my eldest daughter, and I shall entrust my throne to you when I die." The words still echo in my head, but I am horrified. I have never asked to hold power, to hold the weight of an entire country upon my shoulders. Yet, fate had once more overridden me, declaring things that I will never want nor need. He then spoke of betrothal. I smiled weakly. I could care less of combining the power of countries.

Had I been born into a family of olive gardens, this fate would have never been bestowed upon me.

My sisters had gushed at the thought of my future marriage, dreamy expressions crossing their faces all day. I scowled in disapproval. I wanted so badly to not have been firstborn. I cannot possibly relate to any of my younger siblings, save the youngest: Katrina. She is, as her name implies, so pure and beautiful with such skill that none other can ever hope to possess. Any man would want her. She is kind and quiet, gentle and soft, sitting by her rose garden day and night, trimming the leaves, humming a quiet melody to herself. She is feeble, unaware of the world around her; I feel the urge to protect her.

Prince Daray of a neighboring country will be here soon, likely not today, however. It is my last chance to flee away from this world of force and ill wish of power. Father knows of the many people who want so badly to be king, who will do anything to overthrow our family to take over. I would have gladly accepted the chance to become like anyone else; my father, however, disagrees. He claims that once we are overthrown, they will diminish us forever, to ensure that we shall not try and take back what is rightfully ours. I wonder if it is possible to give up my royalty.

I find Katrina sitting by the flowerbed, soaking up the sun's warm rays, her goldenrod hair glistening. How I wish I could be her, not to worry about becoming a leader of a country. I fear becoming one like so. I find that the prospect of responsibility is one too frightening. I may be repeating myself, but it is true. The knowledge of knowing that all who are beneath you may day by a single fault of your own may cause such guilt that it is possible to self-suicide, a sin that is not allowed within our lands. It would have been punished by the pain of death, but I had pointed out that if one had already committed suicide, it would be quite impossible to murder them once more.

Katrina looks up at me, a small smile flickering across her small, rosy lips. I do not smile back. How can I? She notices, and her smile fades away. "What's wrong, Elly? What's wrong?"

A small smile crossed my lips as she spoke her own nickname for me. I look into her innocent face, her worried deep, blue eyes. I did not want her to suffer for my own cause. "There's nothing wrong," I said softly. "Just a nightmare."

She smiled, turning back to her roses, holding a single one delicately in her fingers. "It was beautiful," she said softly, her eyes far-away and distant. "I wanted to keep it with me forever." She had not clipped the thorns, I noticed. Katrina held the rose close to herself, accidentally pricking her finger. She gasped, dropping the rose immediately, looking at the red blood that dripped. She ran off to her nurse immediately; I looked down at the rose. I was about to pick it up when the wind had swept it away from my grasp, and I watched it fly away in the sky.

The wind began to beat across my face. It was getting chilly; I headed back inside. There, my maid grabbed me – a very improper thing to do.

"He's here – apparently, they left early! Come, ma'dam, he is already requesting for you! We must prepare you!" she hushed, pushing me into my room. I stared at her, oddly.

"Who? Who's here?" I asked.

"Why, his Royal Highness Prince Daray!" my maid Tarza exclaimed. I gasped. I had hoped for an evening to myself. No, fate was not even kind enough to grant me the smallest desire of mine. Quickly, Tarza pressed against me my beige gown, complete with gemstones and a lace veil. Turning to stare at me, she cried, "What are you waiting for? Hurry! Get changed!" I bit my lip. I did not want to, but I could not appear as a spoilt child as I was once before, angrily saying "Must I?" whenever I had to things I didn't want to do.

Nodding reluctantly, I changed, slipping on the gown, the soft, cool fabric smooth against my skin. Tarza tied it in the back as I placed the veil upon my head. I stared at my reflection in the mirror as Tarza began to dab a small bit of perfume on upon me. This was not the princess that I wanted to become. I didn't want to be the queen who was not even allowed to side-saddle, forced to sit upon the throne day and night as Mother does. I want to run. I want to see what is at the horizon, where the sun sets. I want to see where the moon and the stars call home.

Yet I can't.

"You are ready, Princess Kellyn," Tarza said, resuming her calm and separated self. I nodded, holding my head high as my instructor once taught me. I exited the room, walking down the grand marble staircase, entering the ball room in which King Kabili and Prince Daray toured our castle.

Father looked up. "And here she is, my daughter, Princess Kellyn," he said, a smile upon his lips. I smiled weakly, curtsying. Prince Daray turned out to be a tall figure, strong; his long dark hair hung in front of his dark eyes, his pale skin contrasting greatly. King Kabili was quite the opposite; stout, rounded, bald, with tanned skin. Even the prince's eyes could not be found in the king's. _He must take after his mother completely_, I mused.

"Princess Kellyn," Prince Daray said, kissing my hand. "You look lovely."

"Thank you," I replied unevenly as his father did the same. I could not remember how to be gracious, the sight of the two made my stomach churn in anxiety; I feared for what would become of this.

It was that which had started my life disaster. He has been here for two weeks now, I recall, as I sit in my room, thinking of the situation. He seemed a gentlemen when I had first met him. I believed that he could, perhaps, become a proper husband. However, every night at dinnertime, he flashed a glance at Katrina, his eyes dark. I could not tell what was going on behind them, but I was afraid. It was yesterday when it became apparent to me. He had asked Katrina out for a walk, and she smiled slightly and agreed. I did not quite comprehend that smile, and I still don't.

Katrina came back a few hours later, strangely giggly and silent. I asked her where she was; she did not say the honest truth. I asked her how she was; she said she was fine. I fear for Katrina. I fear for myself, for the treachery I may bring upon the kingdom; and thus, I fear for the kingdom.

What good of a princess am I? All I do is be afraid. I am not brave enough to stand up for what I want, to release my royalty. Oh, how I want to do that so; I shall ignore the gasps and the mocks of cruelty when I give my royalty up, but I want it so badly, yet I am still afraid of Father. I am afraid of unnecessary things. I am most certain that Prince Daray is a good man, a good leader, that I imagine every night those dark looks he casts my sister. Yet why, _why_ do I have such intuition that I should be afraid? Why am I _always_ afraid?

I meet him in the hallway as I walk down to my classes. I curtsy and smile. "Have you acquainted well with my family?" I ask, looking at him in the eyes. His eyes are not warm, the way I wanted them to be. They remained ever different, far-away, almost cold – the stony, icy cold in which her own eyes could not penetrate. His handsome smile does not meet his eyes.

"I have acquainted with them well," he says. "Your sisters are all lovely." I notice that he says nothing about me. I want to ask him about what he thought of Katrina, but I don't. Once again, I am afraid.

I smile at him weakly. "I am glad to hear that," I say, however thoroughly lying. "However, I must be going now. Good day." He replies his own farewell before I leave, relieved to be out of his sight. I walk to my history class. My instructor is teaching me about the rise and falls of past reigns of kings and queens. I notice a pattern. A plotted downfall meant for the king and his family comes every thirteen reigns, on the thirteenth year of the family's reign. Each downfall was greater and worse than the previous.

If the pattern was to be met, the next downfall would be this year.

I gasp. The instructor doesn't notice and continues lecturing me. "Though Izengail had conquered the king, he had died, his point of attacks foiled. Instead, King Illazis II came to rule, and that is your family, Princess Kellyn." I glance up at my name.

Our family has been seated at the throne for thirteen different reigns.

Every single time, the plans were foiled, the king dead, the plotter missing, and another family rises.

Would they succeed in their attempts this time?

I shake my head wildly. I refused to let anything happen to my family. Nothing strange was happening, was there? I think as I recall those many dinner occasions with Prince Daray.

He was going to capture Katrina. I couldn't let him. I musn't.

Yet by dinnertime, I realize that it was too late. Katrina had fallen for him, knowing however well that he was my suitor. She was tricked. I refuse to allow my dearest sister to be taken away. I glare at Daray.

He doesn't notice. He is too busy flirting with Katrina. Father doesn't notice. He is too busy conversing with King Kabili. I stare at Kabili with distaste. He notices, though. He looks over at me and smirks.

He doesn't smile, like most men do when I see them in the hallway. He smirks. I have never seen anyone so grown smirk before. It is very improper. I have seen young boys throwing rocks at the geese do it before, yet one wouldn't think too much about that.

With that, I excused myself. I had to tell Katrina, yet I didn't know how. I sigh.

How I wish that I could live like a normal girl.

A rude knock at my door interrupts me from my thoughts. I walk across my bedroom and open it. It is Prince Daray. "I'm sorry, I need to – " I begin, but he cuts me off.

"You don't trust me," he whispers angrily. "You don't trust your future king."

I stare. He knows of my suspicions. I had tried so hard to keep them to myself. I do not see how he could've seen through me, but I do not believe myself to be very bright. I guess my actions proved my thoughts. I had asked him one too many questions this morning, written one line too many notes during history.

I try to attempt innocence. "What do you mean?" I ask.

"Don't pretend you don't know," he says. "I know you do."

"What do you think I know?" I ask, wanting specification. Perhaps I _don't_ know what he is thinking of. Perhaps I can still get away with a blank slate.

He glares. "Why don't you trust me?" he whispers urgently.

I glare back. The words spilled from my mouth before I could stop it. "I don't trust you with my sister."

He glares more ferociously than before. "You think me to kidnap her?" he asked. I hesitate. "You do?" I bite my lip, refusing to respond. "I know you adore your sister, but you cannot speak a word to her. It will only cause you greater chaos."

"You already cause me chaos," I reply. "What happened to my sweet, dear sister? She knows I'm betrothed to you, yet she falls for you anyway. What happened to her sensibility?"

"What happened to your trust?"

His question caught me off-guard. I say, "I trusted my sister, but I do not want a person whom I have never seen nor spoken to before sweep her away. It is you to whom I do not trust. You are right. I do not trust my future king, should you ever become my husband. Upon the alter, I can refuse. If you shoot me, Father will never allow you to marry the next heir."

"Perhaps you father doesn't care," he said. I stare. I refuse to believe in his nonsense words. He is trying to sidetrack me away from the truth. It will not work, here. I will not fall for such trickery as they did in history. "Greater danger is about to come. You _must_ trust me."

I stare at him in distaste, eying him carefully before giving him my answer. He waits patiently. I hesitate, then say angrily, "No." I closed the door, not wanting to hear what else he had to say. I know my family wouldn't betray their own kin, especially Father and Katrina. Why would dear Katrina think of anything like that? She does not strike me as a traitor. Father wouldn't give his throne up to anybody, save his kin. I didn't believe in a single word that Prince Daray had spoken of.

Yet, for some reason… one part of me did. I scream into my pillow.

I wish to be no more a princess.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to all my reviewers! XD Hope you enjoyed this chapter… please review! It really encourages me and helps me update faster.

_**THIS CHAPTER'S SPOILER WATCH (Don't read if you don't want to:**)_

_Pay special attention to how each character described looks. It may give you a hint towards a part of the plot (not described in the summary. SOME things have to be a surprise, you know!)_

_And of course, the well is important._

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"_You weakling!" she cries. "You foolish weakling! You are not fit to be a princess! You are not fit to be queen!"_

_I stare. I did not understand how the woman before me had turned into the person she was today. She never was so loud; calm and quite, she was, out of people's way. "I never wanted to be princess," I whisper solemnly, my voice weak. "I never wanted to be queen."_

"_You are too weak to want!" she yells out, her flaming fury wrapping about her, her eyes glowing coal red with jealousy and anger. "You are too weak to have!"_

_I do not understand. I never believed the child whom I thought would have grown to make history would have made history in a poor way. "Why?" I whisper. "Why?"_

_She eyes me angrily, spitting out venomous words. "You know why," she hisses. "You know why! I worked hard to be queen; I wanted that position, but I could not have it. Why? Why, you ask? Because you were first-born. I was not. It did not matter who was more intelligent, it only mattered who was born first! Is that righteousness, I ask you? Is that fair?"_

"_It is not," I admit quietly. "It is not fair that I should become queen when I never wanted to."_

"_You selfish creature!" she cries out. "You think only for yourself! Do you ever think of me? I stay quiet, trying to keep my emotions hidden; have you ever once at least tried to comfort me?"_

_I hesitate. I recall, my far-away sister who never spoke to me much, the one who no one looked at. I recall, the look in her soft eyes, the pain that shrieks out loud. It was clear that she needed great help, yet I did not give it. I look down as the truth swept over me. "No," I whisper. "I didn't."_

I awake. Tarza is cleaning my room. I sigh in relief, resting my head on my hand. I had many dreams, each dream worse than the next. But they are dreams, and nothing more. Book Master Conroy told me that when you dream, the Spirits take you into another realm, one of fantasy and might, or one of horrors that may await us. Sometimes, in dark situations, the Spirits choose you to see what will happen, so that you may perhaps prevent it. When I was young, I believed in his every word, but I know better now. Dreams don't come true; if they did, Mother would have been thrown out of the kingdom long ago, when I was six.

I shake my head, clearing myself of these thoughts. Dreams should be the last thing that is disturbing me; I should be afraid for Katrina.

Once again, I wonder of why I am princess; it does not seem right that I should be chosen because of my birth status. I always had hoped that Abigail, my third sister, would have been chosen; she was always Father's favorite. She is betrothed to a noble from Sunalei, whose name I cannot recall. She seems content with her position, for which I am quite displeased. If she had requested for Father to make her heir to the throne, I am certain that Father would have complied; she did not.

Tarza does not notice that I am awake. I lift myself from bed, for which she is surprised. "Oh, my goodness!" she cries. "Oh, dear! I am sorry, princess – I did not acknowledge – "

"It's okay," I say hurriedly, distracted. I ponder over the previous night's numerous situations and thoughts. I bite my lip. It seems ironic to me that I, the heir to the throne, does not only wish to be heir, but is forced to rule through the worst reign of the country yet. I realize how many times I have complained over being heir to the throne, how many times these past two days I have repeatedly spoken or thought it. It seems to me that the only reason why I worry is because, indeed, of my own selfishness…

I cannot linger upon these thoughts, I realize. I shall be late, and no princess should ever be late unless willing to face the disgrace of it all. I quickly dress myself, despite Tarza's protests. I clean myself well, racing towards my bedroom door. I calm myself down. I shall walk. I shall not run; no. It would be a disgrace to run, or so Father had told me when I was young and he had paid heed to me, but no more. I shall honor him still, however. It is my duty.

I meet Prince Daray halfway down the hall. I stop to look into his eyes; I find nothing. Ashamed, I hurry along the long corridor, refusing to look up to him. He does not respond. I arrive to class on time, but I cannot concentrate. My head is swirling with thoughts of Katrina and Daray.

I push my dark brown hair behind my ear as I stare at my blank parchment. I have more important things to worry about than my study. I have always received top grades, for which Mother is proud of. I request to leave. My instructor refuses, in the middle of a deep speech about the French Empire. I request to go to the restroom. He reluctantly agrees. I leave, heading not toward the restroom but towards the garden. I noticed that Katrina had not been there the whole day yesterday. I wonder why.

Katrina, though not in class, is not in her garden, either. My dark eyes peer against the beating wind, my hair flapping about. I cannot find her. I walk out towards the riverbank, where she gathered the water for her flowers. She is not there, either. I recall that when she was young, she enjoyed going to the nearby well after Father had told her stories about the witch that had drowned there. The story had fascinated her, and she would sit by the well all day, waiting for the cry of help from the witch. Fantasies always swept Katrina away. I suppose Prince Daray is a fantasy to her.

I head back to my studies, my hair thoroughly tangled in the great wind outside. The instructor eyes me suspiciously but does not speak, for which I am grateful for. He continues his long speech, passing onto Spanish wars. I doze out, wondering where sweet Katrina could be. It was not like her to miss studies. She had only done so twice, and she had done thus during emotional stress. I could always find her in the garden, however.

I do not know where she is today.

The instructor does not seem to care for Katrina's whereabouts. He suspects more of emotional stress, I suppose, assuming her to be in the garden. I wish to tell him she is not there, that we should be worried, yet I dare not. It is not his business, and he would know where I had gone. If Katrina had purposely fled, she would not be pleased with me.

Yet I cannot help but worry for my youngest sister.

Class is at last over. I have an hour to dwindle; I have completed today's work of embroidery yesterday. I wander outside, the harsh, cold wind making my pale skin even paler than normally. A hand grabs my shoulder. I gasp, spinning around quickly, finding the face of Daray's, his own hair flapping in the furious breeze.

"Come with me," he says. I obey, fearing to get caught. It is not allowed for a woman and man of nobles or royals to be together alone, unless married. I glance around. I see no one.

He leads me deep into a part of the castle I never knew of. I wonder faintly how he knew about this deserted dungeon; I, who lived here all my life, know nothing about it. He, who is here for two weeks, finds this area. Yet I cannot linger upon this idea, for he begins to speak with me.

"You must believe me," he whispers to me.

I eye him angrily. "Why should I? What proof have you to give me?"

He eyes me in the same manner in return. "What proof do you have of your religion?"

I open my mouth to retort, yet I hold it back. He made a point – I cannot defy that. I can, however, defy _his_ own beliefs, his own lies. If I could separate truth from lies, it would be a gloriously pleasant life for me. I would not fear to be queen, for I could make the correct judgments for the people. It is that, however, that most people quest for – even wandering into strange, foreign lands for it and never returning – yet never find it. I have a country I shall soon run. I cannot try to partake in these time-consuming actions.

He continues, noticing my defeat. "I have many secrets," he tells me. "Many secrets that your father, nor mine, may ever know. These secrets can lead you to your rise – or to your downfall, shall I tell it to you." I ponder his words, confused, yet I do not show it. I glare.

"I will not believe in your secrets anyhow," I say angrily. "You are plotting my defeat. Why should I believe a word you say?"

He stares at me solemnly, small traces of anger erasing from his dark eyes. "I will not attempt to correct you," he says.

"You have none to correct," I spit venomously.

His eyes flare. "I try to sympathize," he whispers, "but you do not agree with me." Why would I? "If I shall someday share these uncovered truths, you must act accordingly. I have been both here and there. I know."

He does not make sense to me. I do not try to make myself sound clever or witty; I turn around to leave. He does not stop me. I am relieved. Every word that this man says proves himself to be the schemer, in his failure attempts to lure me over innocently. He has done so to Katrina, but he shall not do so to me.

My heart stops beating. Katrina! I spin around. He is still there.

"Where is Katrina?" I say. He stares at me with his dark brown eyes, not responding. "Where is Katrina?" I repeat, demanding.

He looks away. "She will return, though I don't expect her to be quite the same," he says softly.

My mouth drops open, horrified. "What did you do?" I growl. "What did you do to Katrina?" My heart pounds quickly and furiously for fear of my sister. I do not believe myself to be overly protective of her, yet what could I do when she is possibly dead?

He glances up and stares into my dark brown orbs. "I did not do anything to her," he says. "We met by the well. She told me of the story. As she told the story, her eyes…" His voice trailed off. I stare as I wait for him to continue. Shaking his head, he says, "Her eyes. They glowed with a passion, so furious… it was haunting."

I imagine Katrina's light blue eyes turn fierce with fervor. I cannot think of a possibility of its existence.

"You lie," I say dangerously. "You lie!"

He turns away. I stare at him before leaving. My dislike towards Daray is increasing every moment I see him, my hands itching with desire to shave his head bald, like his father. I attempt to retain control, holding my head high as I walk out. However, my strong position collapses the moment I am back in the garden. I fall to my knees, clutching my heart, the other hand in the soil, keeping myself from hitting the earth.

I do not wish for Katrina to ever find such a fantasy in a man as thus. I do not wish to marry a man as thus. I do not even wish to know a man as thus, but as I have said before, and I shall say again, fate is not in favor of me.

What happened to stories I listened to of common folk girls taking brave actions, marrying the king, and living happily ever after? Oh, how I _wish_ I live in such a fairy tale, with a fairy godmother to take heed to my needs. Thus, I am not so lucky. I am forced to live in a reality so harsh that not even the most horrific stories I have heard can compare to such a drastic life. I wallow in self-pity. What, I ask, kind of princess lets herself sink so?

My hour's time of leisure is over, now. I have wished to use it taking a relaxing bath in my luxury room, yet it was wasted upon another false story of Daray's. I sigh, my feet dragging themselves towards the familiar walls. It was luncheon; I was prepared to make another sight of Daray once more. As I summon up my strength and courage to meet Daray once more, my sister Lemahnae shot up towards me, her hair frizzled, a bewilder expression cast upon her face. "Have you seen them?" she asks. "Have you seen Katrina and Prince Daray?"

My breathing stops short as I hear her speak. I force myself to remain calm. "Why?" I ask.

"They're missing!" she wails. "Oh, no! Katrina – oh, how _can_ she do such a thing? Disappearing with another man – alone, may I add? – and to think, _your_ future husband, and our future king – Oh! The shame of it all!" She hesitates. "When did you last see them?"

I take in a deep breath. "This…" I begin, yet I change my mind halfway, deciding to lie, what I have never done before. "No – um, yesterday. At dinner," I say.

Lemahnae lets out a wail. "Oh!" she cries. "Oh! Goodness knows how long they've been together – "

She leaves, for which I am pleased. I have just met Daray, so that much I know he is safe and alone, for which I strongly pity. Yet Katrina…?

Perhaps this will all be a dream. Yes. I'll wake up. Let me rest for now…

I climb up the stairs, falling into my bed. Sleep overwhelms me, but not for long. I awoke when a horrifying shriek in my dream disturbs me, only to find the castle quiet as normal. It was not unusually silent; I could hear people bustling about downstairs. Nothing was wrong. I reflect upon my dream.

_I search for Katrina. It has been a day since I last saw her. I am worried, my heart beating faster and faster with every second that passes. _Oh, Lord,_ I pray._ Let her be alright! _I think of the secret dungeons. Perhaps I may find Prince Daray there; perhaps he can tell me where she is. At this point, I am so desperate as to willingly meet Daray once more. I run into the dungeons, yet I do not find Daray there. Rather, a person has taken his place._

_It was Katrina, dripping wet, a knife in hand._

_She attempted to stab me with it as I use my best strength to stop her. "You! You!" she cries, her eyes raging mad. I am afraid. "You!" she continues, each lunge of the blade stronger and stronger. "You!"_

_I have no strength to ask her what she meant as she tries to stab me. At last, she lets out a blood-curdling yell…_

I find myself following the pathway that Prince Daray has led me down earlier. I enter the dungeons, and there was Prince Daray – lying upon the stone floor, covered in blood, such a strong shade of red that I have never seen before. It still dripped; he may still be alive. The liquid was frightening; I dared not to touch it, nor to go near it. I am worried, despite however much I dislike the prince. I cannot do anything to help him. I do the most sensible thing I can think of; I run for help.

When I return with it, however, he was no longer there, not even dried blood. Was it all a pigment of my imagination? Was I wanting to see him so badly, I hallucinated his being?

I am confused.

_Three Hours Later_

Prince Daray returns from the woods. He claims he went out to settle a craving of his, a berry found only in the deep of the wilderness. It was dangerous, he says, that no uneducated man can handle. There were a few scratches from his journey; however, there are no signs of his wounds from three hours previous, the massive amount of blood escaping from his gashes. I may not know much, but if he indeed had those injuries, it would not have recovered so quickly and so perfectly. It must have been a pigment of my imagination. It must've. There is no possibility of the wounds being cured.

He claims he does not know where Katrina is. I grit my teeth, staring at him in fury. He does not see me. He is acting differently since our last meeting.

I sigh. I must find Katrina.

He spoke of a well. I must go there. Perhaps the witch drowned there had ensnared her; perhaps she has risen and taken form of the vile Prince Daray. It would be possible; no wonder why his wounds healed so quickly. I throw on my coat and walk outside, fighting against the forceful wind.

I see nothing wrong with the well, yet I am not ready for what I am about to see as I peer inside the well.

I gasp as I stumble backwards, bumping into an object that was not there before.

"Hello."


	3. Chapter 3

I apologize for not updating as fast as I would've liked (it's all downhill from here!) – midterms, science fair, finals, persuasive papers, research papers, labs… arrrrghh! But thanks to **Masked Dragonfly 0926**¸** randmneko**,and **shattered rainbow** for reviewing! XD

R&R

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It is blood, blood, oh, so red, so pure, like the blood that I have seen in that hallucination, rippling in the well, watered. I jump at the voice, spinning around. It is Daray. I stare, frightened. "What do you want?" I whisper, my voice shaking, my whole body trembling. He does nothing but stare at me. It makes me uneasy. It makes me even more afraid.

His voice is deadly, yet silent, in a tone that I have hoped never to hear. His dark eyes pierce through my skin, crawling with the cold, numbing my pale skin in ice. His lips only moves the slightest as he speaks. "How much do you know?" he whispers.

I do not understand what he says. How much do I know of what? If he is reflecting upon the situation between himself and dear Katrina, then I know only of what he has told me. I have seen nothing more – not much, to be precise. I shake my head. "What did you do to Katrina?" I ask, worriedly. "Where did you cast away my sister? She did nothing to you!"

His dark eyes flash in fury, his jaw clenching only slightly. "Is that all you know?" he says, his voice dangerously quiet. I gasp, my body tensing. He grabs me by the arm tightly, pain shooting up and down throughout my body. I wince. He throws be back toward the well. "You are not fit to be queen," he says. "You are weak, you foolish weakling! You are afraid. Queens can never be afraid. You foolish weakling! Foolish and weak!"

Somehow, the words sound familiar to my ears, yet I cannot recall where I have last heard them. I am immobilized, paralyzed; I cannot move. He stares at me spitefully, spitting out vengeful words. "You will regret your existence." He leaves me alone as I stay by the bloodied well, staring at shock. Why was he targeting me? What did he want that he cannot have? He will be king someday, overpowering me. What more did he want?

He is up to something. If there was a prophecy, perhaps I could decipher it, but there is none. All famed prophecies were proven false and impossible, coming from old women that wanted nothing more than a few gold coins to live off of. They were, in time, beheaded for their unforgivable lies, causing the whole kingdom to tense in riot. There is no prophecy to be tricked by, nor to go by. If life wasn't so hard. If only.

I have lingered enough in the past and wasted precious time in longing for the impossible instead of taking action. I have promised it will happen no more, and today I intend to keep that promise, despite its true difficulty.

I stumble backwards, leaning against the well, my breathing ragged, overwhelmed. It was in that position that my sister Abigail found me later. She didn't notice my tight situation, but rather, she began to speak in her own thoughts.

"Prince Daray _is_ charming, isn't he?" she says, breathless. "Oh, he called me _Princess_ Abigail, the words so sweet and slipping off his tongue, it fits so well..."

I am mortified. Not only has Daray taken Katrina captive, but he entranced Abigail as well with his wicked spells. I can see his carefully laid out plans before my mind's eyes: he will spellbind all of those with a royal name, our minds wrapped in a sheer, invisible force in which we cannot break, living a false life for all eternity. I can picture this in a storybook, one with a broken binding and worn pages from being read so often from generation to generation, the story of an evil, wretched man that held magic within his fingers, weaving disaster for all he met. Yet where is this 'happily-ever-after' in which I always believed to happen to me? When I was young, Tarza promised me a happy life, that I'd find my prince and be swept off my feet like Belle.

I cried one night when I was nine when one of my sisters died. I screamed at Tarza, "You promised me a happy life! You said that I would always be happy!" I now know that it is impossible for anyone to have a life without sadness, for what life would that be but emptiness? It would have no meaning; it was beyond Tarza's control. Yet still, I long for pleasure, to wear a smile upon my face that is not forced as it is often times now. Tarza thinks that Daray is a charming young man. I wish I can tell her otherwise, but what kind of princess would I appear to be then?

Lemahnae, my beautiful but ditzy sister, has disappeared now, too. That's two of my sisters that have disappeared – my two youngest sister. I am oldest; I am expected to take care of them. That is what I expect of myself. Oh, why me, why me…?

If I was my great-grandfather Eyad, the one who had taken over after the previous royal family stepped down, I would have no doubt but killed off this vile man the moment I saw him. I am not that cruel, however, and I am a princess, not a valiant knight that rescues drowning maidens from the vast lakes. When I was young, I had tried to do that, purposely jumping into the treacherous waters when I knew clearly I could not swim. I nearly lost my life that day, receiving a sharp scolding from Tarza, making me promise never to do it again. I was so frightened, I did, and I never thought of doing anything so silly as that ever again.

But it is the same blood that runs through our veins, isn't it? It's just a matter of position; I am a princess, I cannot do so. Oh, this society is going to be the end of me! I am not even able to chose something for myself even once – I used to wonder as a child why I was never able to play with the other children, left alone to play by myself underneath the great oak's tree shadow; why I was never able to wear the pants that Daddy wore, and why I needed to be fitted into pink corsets; why I couldn't have vegetables but meat. Oh, how nice it would be to decide to wear green instead of yellow, deep royal blue instead of pale pink…

But that is beyond my control. For now, I must focus and do exactly as what the kingdom expects of me. There is nothing more that I can do, nor what I shall do. It is simple; determine what is best for the kingdom, and ensure that all is carried out as planned –

- oh, how difficult this task is! Can I not be a seamstress child? Oh…

One by one, they will all begin to disappear. One by one.

I wander into the safety of my chamber, my mind buzzing with confusion. However, one look at the ground and I knew my own bedroom was safe no more, for there laid Tarza, the kind-hearted maid, a cleaning rag in one hand, a note in the other. Blood has poured greatly from her side; it is too late to save her now. Horrified, I back up into the wall, my hand on my heart, shaking my head. Her eyes are open in shock and pain, her hand a tight grip around the note. Gathering my strength and courage, I approach the gore that once was my loving maid, prying the note out of her hand.

I clutch it in my own hand, afraid of what it reads. Steadying my breath, I carefully open the blood-soaked note, my fingers trembling in fear. Alas, I read it, and immediately the note drops by my side.

_I'm watching you._

I suppose that the man had given it to Tarza to take it to me, or she had found it somewhere lying around. It is not signed; it does not have my name on it. I wonder faintly if this letter is not for me. I believe it is; I should not think much about it.

It was then I remembered that Tarza is dead in my room. I look at her, my breath once more caught in my throat. I slam the door open, screeching at the railway.

"Tarza is dead! Tarza is dead!"

I scream, however un-princess-like it is of me to do so. Butlers passing by look at me oddly. Had I not been above them, they would have scrunched their noses up in distaste. It does not make me falter, however.

"Murder! Murder!" I cry in frenzy. I run to my father. By the time I find him, I am breathless, tripping over my heels. "Father!" I shout. "Murder! There's been a murder – Tarza was killed!"

"Where?" he asks strictly.

"She's dead, in my chamber room," I say.

Father shrugs and turns back to his menu. "Have someone take her body away. You'll have another maid in a matter of hours. Shoo, Kellyn; do you not see that I am busy?"

I stare, appalled. Does Father care for nothing? He cannot see what is straight underneath his nose! Two disappearances, one death, one frightening note in which I plan to keep to myself – and Father does not even care! No. Rather, he is planning for the food that he wants to be served for the dinner party two months away – a dinner party in which we may not be in the throne to see to. Doesn't Father understand the slightest bit the importance of these acts? I know better than to question him, however. I recall, eight years ago, when I was eleven, I had questioned what appeared to me in the past to be an unreasonable judgment that Father had made. I suffered from his fury and wrath, cowering into the corner. I remember Mother, sitting next to him on the throne, afraid to act.

That was when I was eleven, a single year beneath Katrina's current age. She's only twelve right now – and captivated – possibly killed – by Daray. And Lemahnae, gone! She is naught but fourteen! And Abigail, at the ripe age of seventeen, is entranced, captivated under his seemingly harmless spells…

I must stop this. I must put an end to this.

But who will help me? _Who_? I can't do this myself – it is far too dangerous! Tarza, at one point, may have helped me, but now she is dead, too. It's a murder mystery, and the culprit is none other than Daray. But does anyone notice? Does anyone care? No, they all will say.

I think for a moment. Am I hallucinating it all? Am I so depraved of those fairy tales I lusted for when I was young that my mind creates its own images? Is that why the butlers looked at me strangely, and why Father disregards my actions?

But there's Daray. He puts an end to this thought.

But is Daray actually a true character? Is he not a figment of my imagination? Tarza said he'd come early. Since then, was I hallucinating? What if he'd really come on time? What if Katrina and Lemahane are only out to experience the ways of the outer world for a few days, as I had when I was young? These thoughts that consume my mind confuse me, every word thought making my mind hurt more and more. I would go to bed, but I cannot – I am afraid! If the man – with the note – knew that the maid was my maid, surely he'd be able to follow her to my bedroom?

My breathing increases as I frantically look about, my heart troubled. My childhood hiding place is now not fit for a princess my size. I am dizzy, my head light, dots appearing in my eyes. At last, I cannot bear it.

Darkness consumes my body.

My eyes flicker open. Slowly, I recognize the canopy of the bed as my own. A maid whom I do not recognize smiled down upon me. "I'm Prodita, your new maid," she says. "I heard your old maid died. Terrible news."

"She was murdered," I correct her, staring at my bedpost.

Prodita nodded her head. "Yes, well," she mused. Looking about the room, her eyes finally laid back onto me. "You fainted, princess," Prodita explained. "You're sick – your temperature is high."

I am sick? Thoughts spin in my head. How could I be ill? I reflect back onto my last meal – last night, at dinner. Father had offered me sauce for my chicken. Daray was watching me…

I gasp. "Food poisoning," I choked out.

Startled by my sudden action, Prodita spun around. "Pardon me?"

"It was food poisoning," I say, but I instantly clamp my mouth shut. I do not even know about Prodita – her personality, her past, her family line, her possible future. "It… the food didn't taste right last night," I say hastily, attempting to make up for my obvious blunder, one of what no princess should make. Prodita threw one last suspicious glance at me before accepting the false detail.

A small smile flickering upon her thin lips, she said brightly, "All right, miss, perhaps the doctors can help you."

I'm not quite sure what it was exactly, but something in her voice didn't flow as easily as it had when she first introduced herself to me. Some of it sounded a bit forced, but I let it pass. It would be difficult for any reasonable body to accept the news of murder and poisoning.

I frown, suddenly aware of her choice of wording. My hand absently came up to my chest. "Doctor?" I repeat. "Surely you mean nurse."

I expected her to nod and apologize, stumbling over words, saying that it was a mistake. She didn't. Rather, she shakes her head in a severe manner, an ironic smile placed on her lips as if she didn't know whether to frown or laugh. "There's an issue with the medical ward right now," she says. "One of the five nurses left the country to see her sick mother. Another one is sick herself. One is insane, the fourth still a new apprentice that cannot even tell the difference between medicine and poison. And the head of the nurses was found dead just two days ago. By the time a nurse was sent for in this vast country, it might be too late."

I swallow rather nervously. "Does Father know about this?" I ask hesitantly. Surely he would never allow a doctor to see me. "Why can't I have a midwife? They know some about illnesses."

Prodita shakes her head. "His Majesty indeed knows about this," she says lightly, "and a midwife can only tell if one is sick or not. She calls in a nurse to cure illnesses; they don't do much themselves."

All these murders are playing with my mind. Perhaps, if I ran out into the wilderness, these troubles will not find me…

…but then, would the wilderness be an even better location to _be_ murdered?

While Prodita still has her back turned, I quickly slip through the door. Fresh air is greatly needed. I exit, holding my cloak close to my body. The harsh wind is blowing fiercely. I wince as the wind beats across my face, my dark hair flapping in the air, piercing my eyes. I wander aimlessly around, and for a moment, the wind blows away all my thoughts as I think only of the deep color of the blue sky. A voice interrupts my poetic thoughts, startling me. I do not recognize it; I am frightened. An amused laugh lifts into the quiet air. I turn around. It is a man, with fair hair and skin, with eyes that dance with pleasure. It is pleasing to see someone so bright in a time as disastrous as these.

"I never dreamed I would see Princess Kellyn personally," he says, a wide smile on his face. I stare, in awe as to how my name rolls off his tongue perfectly, though this man remains a stranger to me. Noticing my expression, he strides over to me, kissing my hand. "Pardon me, princess," he says, "my name is Erik."

"Sir Erik," I greet, attempting to keep a pleasant smile on my face, "perhaps you are wishing to see my sister Aireilyn? She is waiting for suitors at this time."

"No, I am not in search of her," he says, a small smile playing along his lips.

I frown slightly. "Well, are you looking for Lemahnae? She's a bit young for suitors at the moment, but I'm sure Father will see you all the same."

He shakes his head, laughing lightly. "Oh, no, nothing of the suitor sort," he says. "I had best be going now."

He is so friendly, so nice, I nod and let him leave without hesitation. If only the world was as kind as he. When he leaves, it is quiet once more, the same kind of quiet, but it is not the same to my ears. It was calm and peaceful before, but now it seems to be lacking something of some sort. A friendly conversation has put my mind out of place.

"Kellyn."

The voice comes from behind me, breathing on my neck. I spin around, but no one is there. I fall on the bench, my hand fingering the place where the warm breath had hit, where the voice had come from. But I am alone.

"Why ignore me, Kellyn?"

The voice is so close. I look around, but I cannot find anyone. Is it all in my mind? "Who are you?" I say. "What do you want of me?"

The wind stirs before it settles. It must have left. Frightened, I head back inside, massaging my neck, before a whisper comes to my ears.

"Blood."


	4. Chapter 4

I'm really really sorry about not updating, but apparently school's having fun giving out extra homework, and then there's the flu that's been going around, and I bought a life off of E-Bay, and…

…I should stop making up excuses and get on with writing. XD

R&R

* * *

I jump, startled, craning my neck about, peering as the harsh wind blew against my face, stinging my eyes. A dead leaf is blown away; the trees branches shake, but nothing else moves. Nervously and unsteadily, I walk into the castle, greatly disturbed. "It's your imagination, Kellyn," I tell myself wryly, attempting to reassure myself, despite my own knowledge of knowing I would not succeed. "There's nothing out there. You saw for yourself. There's no one. No one."

I wring my hands, biting my lip. I was always the odd one out; the eldest, the cleverest, but I had fallen out of place in line with my sisters. I had no one in which I could confide into. The only sister to whom I was close at all to was Katrina, and of her, I could never bear to pour my burdens onto. My other sisters were either outrageously silly or much too studious, keeping a little life all to their own. Father will no longer listen to me, and my maid is dead.

A small smile makes its way to my lips. I had forgotten Mother. Mother, who always seems to know everything, as she stands royally in the back of the ballroom, quiet, seemingly blending in with the shadows. She never likes the attention she is forced to have as queen as she stays in her solitude. I make my way to Mother's bedchambers. They are so familiar to me, a flourishing red and gold that seems to make the place enchanted.

"Mother!" I say laughingly as I enter into her bedroom, smiling. She, however, does not respond to my pleasant greeting, her eyes weary and exhausted. I have rarely seen her as such before; if at all, I cannot remember it. "Mother?" I ask, concerned. "What has happened?"

"Murder has happened," she replies, her voice quiet, her eyes distant and burdened. "Surely you must have noticed, Kellyn, of all that has happened so far? Your father will not listen to me. I have mentioned it to him once in the past, but he has purposely ignored me. I am worried, Kellyn."

My smile slips away completely. "I have noticed," I say lightly in reply, though my expression was dark and uncomfortable. "Katrina has gone missing, my own maid killed, as well as the head nurse. I have had illusions as well, whispers of the wind, bloodied of the water." I held back the words of my own self being frightened. I must stand strong for Mother, who is so weak and frail a person, despite however strong her mind of knowledge is.

"You've noticed," she says, somewhat relieved, a smile caressing her lips, "I knew you would. You're my Kellyn; of course you would notice. Of course." She hesitates. "Your father has always favored you. Perhaps you can change his mind."

I shake my head. "He does not love me much. He prefers Abigail to the rest of his daughters, and Abigail is enthralled already by Prince Daray. Besides that, I have already tried; he will not listen to me, either."

Mother lets out a quivering sigh of terror and shock as all hope faded away from her eyes and expression. "No," she whispers unbelievingly. "I have always told him, continuously, that you were far better than all the other children. He must surely trust your judgment!"

"But he does not," I say quietly. I look at the velvet carpeted floor; I dare not look up to meet Mother's eyes, for fear of what I will see. After moments of silence, I can no longer bear the aching pain that my heart is experiencing. I tear my eyes away from the ground and stare intently at Mother. "You must've surely noticed," I say, "of the pattern of the rises and falls of the kingdom. No plan has ever succeeded, but the people who attempt murder get crueler and crueler as generations pass. This is the fourteenth year, Mother. What if they were to succeed this time?"

"Don't fill your head with nonsense, child," Mother says. She attempts to be snappish, but her fear and weariness instead make her sound weak. "Of course nothing of that sort will ever happen." But she is terrified inside. I know. Mother begins to shake her head, her voice growing frantic. "I told them so, many years ago. I warned them, but they didn't listen." I am lost as of what Mother is referring to now, but she seems to have forgotten me. "Hark, Helen! Do you not feel the pain now?" She appears to be in a memory she has long been stressed out upon. I chose to stay silent. "Do you not see what your insolent decisions have caused? They have wrecked me! They have caused havoc in me!" Mother burst to tears. I awkwardly leave the room, confused as of the situation.

I wonder of what has happened in the past few days. So many events have troubled me, so much more than what has happened in all my previous days in life. I hope that this clumped area of forced struggle will soon come to an end, but I highly doubt it; Father, I can no longer relate to; my sisters I fear, are lost; my maid is killed; Mother has lost her sanity.

What was I? Was I lost as well to the eyes of others?

And what of Prince Daray? Who is he? He is evil, obviously, but an evil that I cannot comprehend; he seems to be… alluring, almost, in a mysterious fashion that is unfamiliar to me. I am aware that evil does exist in this world as well as any other, as in any other fairy tale, but not all stories hold happy endings. What would be my story?

In short, Prince Daray frightens me. My blood runs cold and my feelings grow fierce with fear and hate of what he has done to my sisters, of what he is about to do; yet the manner in which he carries out these forces are seemingly both civil and uncivil, perhaps in a rude politeness in the way he speaks. He seems to be one, and seems to be yet the other. He is a figure that I cannot comprehend; it is strange to me.

All these items that swirl around me frighten me, and I wish to close it away. Why can't I? I am not yet queen; the responsibility is given to my mother. It would be easiest for me to slip away from it all, to be neutral, to avoid any interaction in such chaotic decisions and rash actions, where the price of a mistake may be the slip of death. And what was the prize? Was the prize merely to rise in society to look after a kingdom, to be forced onto great responsibility, only so that your future generations shall suffer?

It appears to me that this situation is beyond desperate, it is hopeless, failing. Both situations appear to me as dead-ended, but I am only a princess; of what do I know?

I run into my bedroom and shut the door, shaking. I bite my lip and force myself to be calm. I am no longer participating in such turmoil, such horrifying events that drastically continue, one after another. It is like a terrible play that Father used to have us watch, while the actors onstage pass on the experience to the audience, but that one difference between partaking in such events and watching it is that, while watching, no matter how terrified, there is a small sense of security.

That security has escaped from me now. I am lost as to where it is.

In my own desperate hopes to regain it back, I am sitting in the chair of my bedroom, staring at my reflection. My skin is pale, my dark hair untidy, my eyes weary. How terrible I look! The look I hold is the appearance of a villager. Had I worn a simpler garment than the current one that is bordered with jewels, I could easily pass for the daughter of a poor farmer.

I smile slightly. Perhaps that is what I ought to do. Perhaps, after all these years, I shall run away, into the lands that I want most of.

But would that be everything against all the moral lessons I have been taught? Would this be categorized as a selfish and imprudent act? Or was it as I think of it as, to follow my greatest desires? I remember Katrina's escape. Was she not thinking the same thing as I? In the gravest times, it would not be right for me to run away, as princess; but I was never princess through heart or will, but only through force and birth, the ranks of society that determine all, but remain the least important. It is ironic how the human society works.

Why do I bother with all this anyways? It appears that what is good and evil, is all an opinion; so whose judgment is it that shall decide what _is_ good, and what _is_ evil? Comprehension is a difficult, learned skill that most do not have the capability of understanding, even should they wish it.

It leads me to Prince Daray. Is he so evil? Does he mean well, but chose the wrong course in to which to show such attempts?

What people do to fulfill their actions, and the interpretation of such, are often two completely different matters. If it is that we are holding a terrible rule on ourselves and they wish to give the kingdom a better king, perhaps they are doing what is right, but would it not be better just to speak of it rather than to cause terror and murder?

But what would happen then; what would Father do? He would kill them. He would kill anyone who abuses him so.

Does that mean Father is evil?

I sigh, exasperated, trying to make sense of my thoughts that swirl in my mind. I attempt to get a hold of myself, telling myself that I have been thinking too much, and being practical, too little; that what is right, is right, and what is wrong, is wrong.

Yet I cannot help but wonder if both sides are right, or if both are wrong. Who would win in the end? Would, as historic patterns have proved, both of us be overthrown and a survivor take over?

I am not aware of where I am headed to, but before I grow aware of it, I find myself in a place I have never been to before. It is cold and damp, like the dungeons, that give me a chilling feel that creeps into my bones, with a musty scent that fills my nostrils. I peer in the dark, finding a body lying on the floor. It is one of Prince Daray's.

I freeze. Should I help him? Examining him closely, I notice that he had wounds, exactly as I had found him before he disappeared after I went and called for help. I recall the Daray I have met since then held no wounds.

I bite my lip. So perhaps Daray _was_ good. It was too much of a complicated matter.

I immediately help him up, splashing nearby water onto his face. He groans as his dark eyes flicker open. "Are – are you all right?" I say, my voice quivering.

"Do I look it?" he mutters, wincing in pain. Looking around, he continues, "At the bottom of the well. At the bottom of the well."

"The well?" I repeat, astounded. "The bottom of the well is _this_?"

"This is the chamber that it leads to, at the bottom of the well," he says, his voice fading away. "Help me."

I attempt to support him, but I cannot help but think. I had met the fraud Daray by the well…

…and the well water was red with blood.

And if Daray was here, then who should the other be?


	5. Chapter 5

Updating still might not be as efficient as I had hoped for, even though school's practically out. A terrible virus has arrived, forcing me to relocate all my files and now I have no idea how to access to them...

Anyways, enjoy, and R&R! (Sorry it's short. hehe.)

* * *

My mind is full of inquiries, never ending, question after question, like a long train of thoughts that I never wanted to have. I keep them to myself, however, as I quietly help Daray back to the castle. I am about to open the doors to the main entrance when he stops me, his movement frail and weakened, as he murmured, "Not this way. People will see."

I look at him, confused. "What other way is there?" I question, biting my lips in difficult thought.

He does not respond immediately, being exhausted and having lost too much blood. He attempts to lift a finger, but it is too heavy for him. "Over there," he says, his voice a raspy whisper, nodding slightly toward the left.

I walk where he speaks, all the while aware that, if I was mistaken and Daray _was_ cruel, he could be leading me into a trap. He seems to know so much more of my own castle than I do myself, and is it not I who am supposed to rule this land, this country? I who have lived in this castle since birth?

At last he commands, "Stop." I stand still, looking around, bewildered. I see no entrance; there is nothing. He commands, "Put me down. Climb up the vines that grow on the wall until there are no more vines. Go into that room and find the bureau. Behind its mirror there is a key. Take that key and enter the bathing room closet. There should be a pile of gowns littering the floor. If you are to push it aside, you will find an entrance. Insert the key into the lock and climb down the stairs until it comes to an end. You will meet the wall; push on the wall, and it will open."

I set him down, not asking how he knows such things. Obediently I climb. It is difficult for me, and soon my hands are cut and swollen. It is a long and difficult process as I grasp onto the thick, thorny vines, pushing myself up. At last, they end, and I climb into the window, looking around.

It is a bedroom. I walk toward the mirror and reach behind it, but I feel nothing. I try again. There is nothing but the wood that holds the mirror up. Frowning, I try once more, but there is nothing. My head leaning against the wall, I look for a key, but I see nothing.

The lock in the door began to turn. Soon after that, the door opens. My breath is caught in my chest as I freeze still, unable to move, watching in fright as a person enters the room. I drop down, hiding behind the bureau, hoping that he will not notice.

"I will come right away, Frederick! I just ask that you allow me a bit of time so that I may retrieve an item of mine," says the first man.

The other man, Frederick, sighs. "Very well, but you must make it quick. Time waits for no one."

"It will not take long," the first promises. He walks toward the bureau. My heart pounds faster than ever. Blood rushes to my ear, pounding, pounding. I hope that he does not hear.

The first man – a stout, dark-haired being – comes closer. He opens a drawer and retrieves a silver letter-opener. He turns to leave but suddenly stops, turning around. He spots me and cries out, "Frederick, you must come!"

Angry, the second man replies, "Must I tell you once more? There is no time! Take what you need and be done with it!"

"No, no, you will be thankful that I say this, Frederick. I beg that you come here and take a look."

Frederick is now, too, coming towards me. He is a tall, broad, fair-haired man with deep eyes. The corners of his lips turn upward in amusement when he sees me. "Now, I wonder," he says, "what in the world would a fair maiden be doing in the bedroom of a man such as Kerth's?"

I hesitate before responding. "I did not know there was such a man." I suddenly remember that I am princess of the land, and I have greater authority over them than a simple maid that they must have mistaken me for. Flushing, I stand up, declaring, "You have no right to question me."

A crooked smile crossed Kerth's face. "Why in the world would you ever say that?" he says.

"Might I ask who you are? What are you doing in the castle here, and what is your business? You will regret it if you lie to me," I reply angrily.

Kerth lets out a laugh before saying, "I believe we asked you first."

"You will understand if you are to answer my question," I say.

"Let me just ask you this one thing. How did you get in here? I believe I have every right to ask that. You have invaded my own property," Kerth says.

"And you have invaded mine!" I reply, my voice sharp. "Have you not the least respect for the princess of the country?"

A crooked smile crosses Kerth's face once more, as if he had always known that I am, indeed, princess. "Forgive me, princess," he says, his voice somewhat sarcastic. "We are acquaintances with your father." He turned to Frederick. "Now, isn't this an excellent reason to be late? What do you think he will say when we tell him?"

"Perhaps it will be advisable that we _don't_ tell him," Frederick replies, still examining me. "We could, however, put her somewhere safe for the time being."

A chortle escapes Kerth's mouth. "Safe! Of course! We wouldn't want anything less than perfect for the future queen, now, would we?" I begin to feel edgy by the whole ordeal. Glaring at them, I remain silent. "Why, she isn't even speaking a word! Now isn't that just absurd, Frederick, that we will be ruled by a mute?"

"I am mute! I am not dumb, either, and I would prefer it if you would speak acknowledging that I, as well, am in the room!" I interrupt angrily.

Kerth begins to smile the terrible smile of his. "Of course, now, we wouldn't want to anger you!" With this, he firmly grabs my arm. Despite his lack of height, he is extremely strong, and he drags me down into a cold and dark place that I have never set foot in before.

"Tell me, my lady," Frederick says, his voice surprisingly polite, "why were you in Kerth's room?"

"I took a wrong turn," I reply coldly.

"In a place that you have been in since you were born?" Kerth scoffs.

Frederick scowls and says, "That will be enough, thank you, Kerth." Kerth mutters a quiet response before stepping into the background. "But the question remains curious, however. Exactly how did you take a wrong turn? Were you sleepwalking, maybe? No? Perhaps you were given… mistaken directions?"

My breath is once more caught, refusing to answer. However, my slight gasp has given all away. Frederick chuckles and says, "Curious," though his tone suggestions previous knowledge of it.

"What does it matter to you?" I question angrily, biting my lip to control the rage. A princess is not meant to be held imprisoned by bars with no proper reason whatsoever. "You might have earned the favor of my father, but if he is to know such abuse of power that he has so graciously given you, he might think differently of you." I pause for breath. "You will be stripped of your rights and you will be banished! How does my imprisonment help your gain?"

Frederick offers a look of genuine surprise as his eyebrows tilt upwards. "Do you not know? Surely a princess as clever as yourself must have discovered something already!"

I hold my head high as I respond, "Indeed, I have. I understand this attempt to overthrow our family from the throne. However, you will _not_ be the ones to take after us. The question remains standing, however. _Why_ am I imprisoned? What wrong have I done?"

"It is your lack of wrong that has brought you into the position that you are in!" Kerth says, his gruff voice interrupting his own silence. Frederick looks at him, a certain gleam to his eyes, and Kerth quiets immediately.

"You must be very pleased to have such an obedient servant," I observe pointedly. "However, how pleasant he is, it is not my decision to make, and one should not be so picky. It is difficult to find a loyal inferior these days."

"Indeed," Frederick says frankly.

"Might I ask what method you have chosen to receive such a devoted being?" I say.

Frederick casts me a cold glance and replies, "My secrets are not to be revealed. If they were, how easy it would be to find such an excelling servant! I find pride in my methods, and they will go unsaid."

I nod, acknowledging his words. With a surprised voice, I continue, "You say it is easy to find such faithful persons. Pray tell, how many servants do you have?"

"Are my comrade numbers to be revealed?" he says sharply.

I shake my head. "Oh, no. I merely ask due to the state of a curious mind. I once had a dedicated maid myself. However, in an unfortunate accident, I supposed, she had died."

Frederick nods stiffly. "How difficult it is to overcome the grief when one's time is up."

I laugh as I shake my head once more. "No, no. It may be difficult to live without a close one due to death, but when they leave us when their time is not up yet, it is even worse." The single word "murder" floats in my mind, speaking for itself, loudly in a single, menacing breath, breathing deafeningly into my ear.

The two men begin to leave, whispering amongst each other. I bite my lip. I should have kept silent. That man now knows that I, indeed, know too much. It is perhaps better to speak of less than one knows. I should have kept my mind.

I sigh heavily as the door rings shut when I sit upright. Daray! He could still be down there, bleeding, waiting for me…

…or was he?

My mind begins to race once more as I ponder over my morals of Daray. I never liked his person, ever. I have always assumed that he was plotting to overthrown my father's throne. And just as I am about to believe him once more…

He betrays me. Betrays me and plots me to this death! I had followed his orders obediently, and I am here now, with nothing but the clothing on my skin for comfort. Will they even feed me? Will anyone notice that I am away? Mother will notice, for sure. Father never pays attention anymore. All my other sisters are too light-headed to possibly care. But what can Mother do? What does she know of?

Yet, once more, I think of Daray. How cruel he is! Magic is at work here. Did he cast an illusion on himself or on me? It is so evil, I can bear to think of magic no longer. I faithfully do what he asks of me, to save his being, and I am here, with no one to rescue my own self…

Seconds turn into minutes. Minutes seem to be hours. Hours feel like days. Never have I ever been deprived like this before. As princess, I have always received the best of everything that was ever available. But to be thrown into a dungeon by two men whose relations with the castle remain unknown! It seems impossible. It would make an excellent story, but to live in such a story is sheer torture.

At last, the doors open once more. Frederick enters, this time alone. He comes, I note, empty-handed. No drink, no food. "Where is dear man Kerth? He has not betrayed you, did he?"

"No, no," Frederick says hastily. He hesitates before continuing. "There is but one reason for my being here."

At his silence, I say, "If that one reason is enough to bring you down here, I suggest that you begin to speak."

Abruptly, he starts. "You will not be receiving any personal favors, any excellent flavors, or any of the superior life styles that you are accustomed to. No one will be looking for you. You must at once get familiar with your surroundings. It is likely to be your last ever home."

I smile slightly. "I have figure that out already." Looking up into his eyes, I continue, "Is that all? That is all that brings you down here? It is a treacherous climb back up. I would advise you to say anything more that you wish to say before you leave to save you breath and energy."

He hesitates, as if looking for words. However, he simply says, "No, that is all." Without another word, he turns back up the stairs, leaving. "Your food is on the bench," he calls out as the door slams shut.

I look on my bench. There is nothing there. Bewildered, I look around, and finally, I see it. Several crackers are on the bench outside my cell. I reach through the bars, but I cannot reach the crackers; they are just beyond my grasp.

Is this the point of his coming down here? I did not see him carrying crackers at all.

In fact, of all places, why did he choose to put the crackers on a bench that I could not reach? Is it some sort of evil wickedness? Some plot he is up to? Is it some sort of test—

I smile slightly. Of course. Of course it would be a test.

I could not reach it. I look around in my own cell. There is nothing but the bench, stone, and iron bars. I sigh, exasperated. How would I ever get my meal? There were no materials to use! There was nothing I could use to bring the crackers closer!

If only my tutor were here, he could tell me what to do! He has taught me so much in the past. In fact, everything I know academically has come from him. If he were here, he would have a solution.

But he isn't.

It suddenly dawns on me. I was able to reach the bench. If I could shake the bench and get the crackers to slide closer to me and I could catch it, then it would be all right. I smile, reaching over, until I notice that the bench is nailed to the floor.

Sighing, exasperated, I look around, hoping for anything to give me a sign. Pressing my ear against the wall, I rap my knuckles against the hard stone. Continuing the process, I find one that sounds different from the rest. I lift the stone with great difficulty.

With great disappointment, I find that there is nothing.

However, as I put the stone back, I hear a cling that was not natural of the stone itself. Lifting it back up, I look at the bottom of it. There, in a dent of the stone, was a rod. Smiling, I removed the rod and brought the crackers over to me.

As I began to eat, the door opened once more and Frederick enters. I smile as I hold up the reward.

"Cracker?" I offer.

After his look of astonishment wears off, a smirk crosses his face. "So be it," he says, his eyes twinkling distantly in the dark.


	6. Chapter 6

New Summer Resolution: I will dedicate my summer into updating! …or not. I hope. XDD And I also realized I'm not exactly fulfilling the spoiler summary like I had planned to. The story is taking a road of its own. Eghh..

I basically can't update the whole of July. Stink summer camps! And an educational one, at that…

And I'm sort of speeding through this thing. Hehe. I can't write suspense no matter how hard I try. So only one or two more chapters left, I'm thinking. Hehe. Short story

Thank you for reviewing! XD

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As I have previously predicted, he declines my offer of a cracker, having much better food to attend to. I allow my triumphant smile to fall as I eat the cracker that I have just offered. He watches me, amused. When I have eaten my fill, or all that was given to me, I ask, "Say, Sir Frederick, what exactly is your business here?"

He seems to be more loose than I have seen him before. Less guarded now, he replies in a casual manner, "My business is to remain unknown. Not many people are to know of it." A small smile flickers across his face as he continues, "It is of no particular importance to you, anyways."

Though I am still quite curious, I decide that I shall not carry the conversation on further. He starts, "Do you believe that I am evil?"

The question comes so suddenly that it is the last thing I expect. Startled, I reply, "I do not know you enough to judge you."

"But based on what you know about me already," he continues, "what do you think of me?"

I hesitate before I respond. "In truth," I say slowly, "I do not know what to think."

He looks at me strangely. "How is that?"

"Well," I begin, "when I first saw you… indeed, I believed you evil. Who would tease a princess as you have done and throw her into a prison! But then, your attitude changed completely. Now I wonder what is the real purpose of me being in here." I laugh wistfully. "I am confused enough to tell you that."

"I see," he says curtly. I look at him strangely. "You do not tell many lies, do you?"

"Only when I must, but I try my best to avoid being caught in such a situation," I reply frankly.

"Well, you are already caught _in_ it, princess, believe it or not," Frederick replies. "I think you should best understand your surrounding events before you make an action. Not everything is as great as it seems… or, on the other hand, as terrible as it may appear."

I look at him inquiringly, wanting to know more. "Why am I in here?" I ask softly.

He casts a sharp glance at me and says shortly, "For your own good." He leaves, and I remain alone, considering his words. Still, I do not know who he is, or what is his cause. All I know is the name…

…I wake up. Beyond my cell door is Erik, keys in hand. "Hurry, princess," he urges, "I have come to rescue you." He slips a metal key into the keyhole, turning it, his eyes determined. The door unlocks as it creaks open. "Come," he whispers. I hesitate, confused, before following his lead out.

"What is going on?" I whisper to him. He shakes his head as if to tell me it wasn't the right time to speak, so I remain silent. He takes me to the stairway that I have seen Frederick use to leave so often. I find myself once more in Kerth's room. We leave the empty room and to beneath the staircase.

"You know where to go on from here. I must leave now," he tells me.

As he is about to go, I stop him. "Wait," I begin. "Can you please tell me what is going on here?"

He hesitates before replying, "They've captured you, and I've come to rescue you. Your maid, Prodita, told me you were missing when I met her while in town. She was looking for lace." He casts me one last glance before departing. "Good-bye."

I remain beneath the stairway, deeply confused. Who _is_ Frederick? What does he want with me?

…And more importantly, who is Daray?

I ponder while returning to my room. Prodita is there, startled at my abrupt entrance. "My lady!" she cries out. "I did not expect you to be here! You have gone missing for two days now; I have wondered where you were!"

"I was… experiencing great difficulties," I say awkwardly. "Erik has saved me from them."

"Good," Prodita says. "I am glad you have returned." Looking hesitant, she continues, "I must go now, I hope you do not mind."

"No, not at all," I reply, sitting upright on my bed.

I think of all that has happened. Erik has saved me, and I am grateful for him, in his debt. But gratefulness is not all I feel. I feel something else, something as in the lines of… attachment, as if I were drawn to him.

It takes me an hour before I realize that I am starting to appreciate him more than I should, but rather in the sense of love. I chide myself angrily. I have not seen him but twice! Yet he has already saved me and was kind to me. His appearance is handsome and his character social in a noble manner.

He already seems perfect.

I suddenly scold myself for not attending to Mother. She must have been deathly worried of where I have been! I rush to her bedroom, but no one is there. I search in the library, but she is not to be found. Desperately worried, I find one of my sisters and asks her urgently, "Where is Mother?"

"You're back?" Abigail says disapprovingly. "Mother has been worried sick. She has left only yesterday, never to return. Mind you, she has been muttering strange things."

"Mother… is gone?" I choke out. Abigail nods before leaving. I still cannot believe it. Mother, the only other person who seems to notice anything is wrong—has left.

For good.

"It's impossible," I whisper. Tears begin to flow from my eyes. Mother was gone. If I did not even know better, I could decently say that she is dead, but she is too good to be dead. But it would all mean the same to me, for I would never see her again.

Erik finds me a few hours later, noting that I have cried. He asks me what is wrong, and I reply, "Mother has disappeared."

"She's dead?" he says, surprised.

"No," I say, "she has left."

He sympathizes with me. He offers to take me with him back to his home, and I agree. It is much better than the castle that brings me so many terrible memories.

At his humble yet decently large home, he pours me tea and offers me cookies. I accept the tea but decline the treats. As we drink, I say, "What were you doing in town the other day?"

"I was looking for some wine. I had been expecting guests over. Unfortunately, though, I have not been able to find anything good. That is, I suppose, the misfortune of disguising oneself as a peasant. No one expects that you have any change; a flaw of the human being."

I laughingly agree. "It is very true," I say. "It is very treacherous that many would rather assume than to think."

"What about you?"

He speaks so seriously that I am startled. "Me?" I say awkwardly.

"Yes," he replies, looking intently at me. "You."

"I…" I stutter, unsure of what to say. "I cannot judge my own self."

"But you do, anyways, I am sure of it. Everyone has morals, but not everyone keeps to them. Indeed, many stray far from it," he says. "Who do you see yourself as?"

I hesitate before answering. "I see myself as a person who _does_ try to keep to her morals as much as possible."

He nods. "But do you assume rather than think?"

"I should say so," I reply.

A small chuckle escapes his lips. He smiles brightly, and the air immediately lightens. "It is nice to know," he says, "that such an excellent woman will rule over us one day."

I smile back. Glancing at the time, I say, "I should go now. I have been gone from notice long enough as it is." He does not attempt to stop me as I leave, and I am thankful for it, for I have too many thoughts in my mind to be disturbed.

_Do_ I assume rather than think? I fancy myself not, but I consider all that was happening right now. I immediately think of Daray. Though there seems enough to prove him guilty, perhaps not all was as it seemed. Perhaps I did not think far enough.

Instead of walking back towards my room, I walk instead to the place that I had left Daray. Nothing but the dried blood on the grass proves that he was ever here. I look up at the vines. I had followed his directions carefully and completely, but the castle had likely changed over time.

Squinting, I see a line streaking towards other windows, one that is not the same shade as the rest of the castle.

I understand; someone has cut the vine off.

Looking closely, I find that the line stops at the window of my room. Surprised, I dash inside, racing to my room, ignoring all the offended looks I have received for behaving so irrationally. I am relived that Prodita is not here and I immediately go to my bureau. I feel for the back of my mirror, and my hand reaches a key. I take it and immediately head towards my bathroom closet.

The gowns are not there, and neither is the entrance. I walk back towards my bed to think… and I remember.

_Only a little over three feet tall, I run to a boy, delighted. "Come with me!" I exclaim, and he obeys, as we run together back to my room. I lead him to the bathroom and shows him the pile of laundry on the floor, pushing it aside._

"_Look," I say eagerly, "it's a secret passage!"_

_He tries to open it but fails. "It's locked," he says, disappointed._

"_Maybe we can find the key someday," I suggest happily. "At least we know where it leads to!"_

_Delighted by the discovery, they search everywhere in the castle for the key, but it was not to be found. Years later, it was also to be forgotten._

_Years later, I return to my room from my trip to a neighboring country. I find a maid scurrying out with a pile of gowns. "What is that?" I say._

"_You have complained about the gowns that were littered on the floor," the maid replied. "We are taking them away. However, they revealed several broken tiles. The king ordered that they be replaced."_

_I nod, thinking nothing of it. There were always some damages in the area…_

The passageway has been covered up. I had forgotten about the discovery, having been so young. And now, as I remember…

…was this how Daray knew of the secret passageway? Was it him whom I have shown it to?

I hesitate.

Who is he?

I am confused, but I am determined that I resolve all this.

For me.

For Mother.

For the country.

I will end this attempt of overthrowing the king. I will understand what is right.

I search everywhere for Daray. I try my luck at the dungeons; he is not there. I bite my lip. He has likely been taken to a secret, hidden area, as I have been. I bite my lip for never having explored the castle well enough. I had been too practical.

I go through my closet, looking for a simpler outfit to wear. As I go through the dresses, I notice one dress that I have never worn before. It was not my taste, and I strongly dislike it. However, in the bodice, was a clasp that held a gemstone. Though I still do not approve of the style, it was the simplest one there was, and I hurriedly change into it. I am about to close the door of the wardrobe when something catches my eye.

The hanger of the dress had fallen to the floor of the wardrobe, making an awkward noise. I bend down to pick up the hanger when I notice a dent in the wood. I unconsciously finger the gem in the bodice. Suddenly realizing my action, I unclasp the gem from the bodice and place it in the dent.

It fitted.

Turning the gemstone, the entrance was unlocked. I hurriedly clasp the gem back in place, lifting the wooden door. I slide inside, closing the door behind me.

Beneath me is a staircase. I follow the steps and go through a hallway and arrive into an empty room with numerous hallways.

In the middle of it is Prince Daray.

Surprised at finding him so soon, I say to him quickly, "I am sorry that I was unable to help you; the vines have been cut and I have been misled."

He shakes his head. "I have expected something to happen. I have been gone from here far too long."

"About that… I remembered something." I look at him intently. "I remember you. Who are you? I… I recall the slightest image, but I don't know _what_…"

"You've forgotten, haven't you?" he says, smiling slightly. I nod, however ashamed. He laughs, looking away. "I was put away here in a place that I am not familiar with. Lucky for them, for I know numerous passageways, but this is likely the only prison I do not know of. Only one of these hallways leads to the outside. Two of them leads to death, with walls that close inward on you. The others lead to dead ends or to locked doorways. And they all appear identical."

"You haven't answered my question," I say accusingly. "Who are you?"

He looks at me straight in the eye and says, "Of all people, I thought that you would be the last one to forget, other than Mother. Of all people! And you have forgotten as well."

"I admit it, and I am ashamed of it," I reply. "Will you not tell me who you are?"

He smiles sadly and says after a moment's pause, "I am your brother."

I gasp slightly and shake my head. "It is impossible. Mother always told me there were only nine of us. With you, there will be ten!"

"Then it must mean that one of your current sisters is not your true sister," he replies, a small smile playing at his face.

"Who, then?" I ask.

He examines me closely before answering, wondering how his answer will affect me. At last, he answers.

"Katrina."


	7. Chapter 7 and Epilogue

IT IS OVERRR!

Last chapter. Wheeee! A bit shorter than I had expected, but… oh well!

I hope, that even with the spoiler summary, it still is surprising. XD

Please R&R. I'd love to know what you think about this chapter.

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Chapter 7

I shake my head no. "That is impossible," I say, refusing to believe his cruel words. "You lie! She is my sister. I tell you, she is my sister!"

"No," Daray says, his voice loud and strong, covering my own. "Have you ever wondered how the rest of your sisters have dark hair, as our family has had for the last several generations, and how Katrina managed to have fair hair? Have you wondered how she managed to have such soft blue eyes when the rest only have dark brown and hazel?"

"Just because she is different does not mean anything!" I protest. "She's unique, she's—"

"What is your earliest memory?" he interrupts. "What is your earliest memory of her? What is it?"

I consider the idea, my face paling every moment. "I remember her stepping off a carriage," I say softly in a far-away voice, my eyes glazed over as I try to recall every sound, every feeling, every color in sight. "I remember standing at the doorway next to Mother. She told me, 'Kellyn, this is your sister, Katrina. She is reunited with us once more.'" I hesitate, looking at him questioningly. "She's not my sister," I say, my voice growing horrified. "She's not my sister!"

"No, she's not your sister," he agrees.

No words are spoken for a short time. I then say, "If you are my brother, will you be the one to inherit the throne?"

He shakes his head. "The honor is yours, Kellyn. Father does not know of me as his son."

"But I can't marry you!" I protest. "I can't, not that I have been given such knowledge—"

"You won't marry me," he says. "There are ways to work around." He tries to get up, and I help him. "Perhaps we can find a way out, first? Do you know where you came from?"

I look around. Indeed, I do not know. "We have two of the ten possibilities secured," I say. "I have the key to a single one." I point towards the one I stand directly in front of. "Let us try our luck with this one."

He hesitates, then agrees, I help him walk through the tunnel. It seems to never end, continuing constantly, until at last the walls begin to move, closing in on us. Horrified, I look about. "It's not this one!" I cry. "Let us leave at once!"

He shakes his head no. "I am an injured body; both of us will die if you take me with you! You must go alone!"

"No, no," I say, trying to help him out. "I will not leave if you will not leave."

"Don't do this," he says, looking at me straight in the eye. "I will see you sometime again. Spare your life. Our country cannot survive if you do not live! Go!"

I am helpless as I race out alone. Tears run down my face as I cast him one last glance.

"Kellyn!" he calls out. I turn around. "I remember… a rhyme…"

"A rhyme?" I repeat. "It's not the time—"

He pays no attention to me, however, and says in a hasty manner as I continue to run,

_One of ten will lead you out,_

_Another two will kill you._

_They murder, looking face to face,_

_The others, watching the two._

_The savior falls down on them,_

_Take three turns from the kill,_

_The seven patient watchers_

_Wait in pointed hills._

I manage to escape as the walls completely close. I fall to the floor, crying.

He is gone forever. Disappeared from all life, never to be seen again. On the day we were reunited, we were separated; how cursed my life is!

I weep, but I recover. He has died for me; I shall not let him down. I look at the floor and fine a design of the sun in the center, its rays going in seven directions. I ignore them, however, and walk over three, hoping I was wandering in the correct direction.

As I reached the end, I discovered that it was correct; the ray of sunshine beamed across my face. I exit. Looking back, I notice how the exit was well hidden behind the trees.

I wander into the gardens. However, once relieved from such penalty, I feel guilt. I could have saved him. We could have escaped together. I had been the one to chose the path. I could have chosen another. It was completely my fault.

Completely.

I fall down and cry once more. I stop, however, when a shadow falls in front of me. Startled, I look up, finding Daray standing there. I smile, delighted, and I start to call his name with utter joy, before I realize he holds a cruel smile on his face, standing their, no blood stains whatsoever, no limp in his legs.

"What are you crying over?" the imposter says cruelly.

"I do not find any reason to tell you," I reply. "You will not find sympathy with me, even should I speak."

"There is no sympathy with such harsh words that exit your mouth," he replies. "I am deeply hurt."

I eye him coldly before I recall the conversation in the center of the labyrinth. If it is true that my sweetest sister Katrina does not share the blood that runs through my veins, who is she? She has gone. Did Daray know something about her that I do not? Why did he lure her away?

Yet, it seems that he was not the one lured away; it appears that he has been the one who had fallen. And if he was last seen with Katrina…

…it all falls into place. I recall my dream I had so many nights ago. My eyes spark up and I say, "Perhaps you can tell me where Katrina is. If you are to share with me your secret, perhaps I ought to share mine with you." He begins to sneer a reply before I interrupt him. "It is a secret I think you would like to know. Or perhaps you simply cannot tell me where you have hid Katrina, because you are Katrina herself?"

The imposter freezes, staring at me absurdly for a few seconds before his eyes begin to darken with anger. "What do you know?" he hisses.

"I know more than you would like for me to know, witch," I reply, composed. I continue in a biting manner, "You were my favorite sister. You were the one I cared for most. How could you?"

"How can I?" Katrina says, furious, coming from behind the bushes, approaching the imposter's side. "Why is it that you have the power of the throne when I cannot? Was I born too late? Oh, no, maybe because I was born from a different _family_ altogether—"

"But I still cared for you!" I interrupt, tears filling my eyes once more. "I never wanted to be queen. I would have willingly given the position up for you! Now where are you? People have been murdered; Mother has been thrown out of the kingdom, as I have seen in my dreams at the age of six. And what about you?" I say, my voice a mere frail whisper.

"What about me?" she says defiantly.

"We loved you. And you betrayed us," I say, my voice weak, my eyes desperate, searching for one last feeling in her own eyes before turning away. But luck would not have it any other way. She gives a single quiet command and my hands were bound. I was thrown into prison.

There was no cracker nor bread for me to eat, no water nor wine for me to drink. At long last, when I am starved and depraved, the door enters. Frederick is there. I look at him accusingly.

"I wasn't supposed to help you," he says. "I was supposed to kill you when I saw you. That was my mission, the mission that was given to me by the King, and by Katrina."

My face pales. "What?" I say, confused.

He pauses before continuing in a low voice, "I hear you know Katrina is not your sister. By much of the same process, the King is not your father, but the son of the nobles that attempt to overthrow him. He came at the same time as Katrina. When I found you, I had imprisoned you on my mission—before I had realized you did not deserve to die." His eyes darts to the door quickly, afraid that someone may come in. "I tried to help you instead, to coach you. I was not given the chance yet when they learned of my intentions and sent Erik to release you, so that they could kill you."

_Erik_. I am extremely wistful and horrified at the same time.

"He was the one who took the potion in the disguise of Daray. Both the king and Katrina are in a family of witches that have eluded every trap that had been set down. It was even easier in the king's rule, for he knew where not to lay the traps down and faked the captures, saying they had died when in fact, they had been released. The queen, though, is, indeed, your mother. They wanted to kill her, but the king had been unwilling to kill such a beautiful lady. However, when it proved that it was impossible that she should remain living, though she has kept all the secrets well, she was thrown out of the kingdom, then killed."

"Killed?" I repeat, horrified, my eyes wide, my breath stopped short. Blood pounds in my ears as my heart beats surprisingly fast. I remember now—my birth father, a bright look in his eyes, young, carefree, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes, throwing me up in the air, then catching me once more.

I remember Mother coming into my room, crying, but never speaking a word.

I remember Father's casket as it was lowered.

I remember the current king stepping down from the carriage, tears streaming down Mother's face.

He nods. "Prodita was a spy," he continues. "She did, though, go out to buy lace the other day. We used it to bind the dead." He pauses, looking around. "I must get you out," he says, examining the lock. He is about to speak again when the doors burst open and a sword is thrust into Frederick's back.

I gasp, not willing to comprehend the sight. Blood spurts from the wound. He has no last words before he dies. Blood spills onto the floor, staining my feet. I look up at Katrina, horrified.

"He deserves that," she says angrily. "He betrayed us."

"He betrayed you in the same way you betrayed me," I whisper.

"I was never on your side in the first place," she says stiffly.

I shake my head. "You were, when you became my sister."

"I was never your sister," she says in the same stiff voice.

I shake my head once more. "You once were, but not now." I look away, tears gleaming in my eyes. "I am sorry that the deaths were in vain, the efforts unseen to, the dreams unfulfilled." I stare straight into Katrina's blue eyes, saying, "Why?"

She looks at me closely before responding, "It was not my choice to make." The fist that holds the lace is deathly white, clenched so hard, it is shaking. I see a flicker of apology in her eyes. She looks away, blinking back tears, as she thrusts the sword into my own heart.

Rush of blood.

Pain.

Burning.

Cold.

All is black.

_

* * *

_

_It was the end of the troubles for another ten generations, when the betrayers had finally been victorious. But they hadn't been victorious. Shortly after their win, Katrina had committed self-murder, filled with the guilt and agony of having killed others. The king did not care, but his rule grew treacherous and terrible. His name was feared, and no country related themselves with them. The once flourishing country became dead._

_It drifted out to sea, banished by the other neighboring countries, forbidding it to be near them. For years, it was untouched, the people weary. Soon, they were forgotten, and the tale from sailors were passed on, of how they had seen a great island full of mystery, with technology so great it was better than the rest of the world's combined._

_The idea grew popular and it was recorded down, but not all of it was true, for what they believed to be advanced jets were merely large vultures circling the island, preying on the dead meat._

_Perhaps you, too, have heard the tale of the island of Atlantis?_


End file.
